The Unravelling-

Leonard must be losing his head. He could here muffled voices and some crashing. Was it the after effects of all the screaming in his head? Some prolonged reaction. Plausible. He had never experienced this though; he only heard it because someone-she- wanted to.

Nothing helpful from his side. He turned to his Aunt, who looked worried and kept trying to look beyond, towards the long gallery. Otherwise, she looked unfazed. Great.

"Is this fine?" he asked, unsure.

"What is fine? I can barely hear anything anymore."

He should be shocked, be distressed, tearing his hair down. Instead he felt calm, his Aunt sounded reasonable. Murmurs were hard to decipher, true.

"Does this happen often?"

She then turned to him, realizing maybe the situation in hand or maybe because his voice was cold. It was not on purpose.

As everything is happening, this too happened.

"Leonard."

"Yes, Aunt."

"I visited last month."

He should not be surprised. Though he recalled the feign reactions just this morning, a daughter away from her home grounds for too long. Lies. Lies.

Nonetheless. "You may go on."

She straightened herself, a helpful defence mechanism activation. "I heard these familiar noises," she glanced back once, "though they were much quiet but then the nights are like graveyard silent here. Then it stopped like right," she cocked her head, "now."

"Did you find anything else here?"

"No, I could not stay beyond a day, you know how it is-"she stopped, breathe, "I failed to explore it any further until now, when I heard you came in Town."

She looked at me almost accusingly, as if she was waiting for me to arrive and I had the nerve to come this late.

Maybe she is right. Maybe she is not. I scolded my head to bother defending her at this precise point of time.

"Someone lives there, then."

She looked perplexed, "How can anyone? Nobody goes there, even if somewhere to live, they had die with the lack of necessities."

"Maybe someone does go there."

She began again, "How-"she stopped. Leonard was pointedly looking at the floor. Shining. Well-kept polished wood.

She was silent. Leo continued,

"And I assume you already know who."

Silence. He signed, a name burning in his subconscious, anger flaring bright.

"Turdley."

At this very moment, he looked like a spitting image of his Mother.

Those summer green leaf eyes burning, his anger instead of leading to uncontrolled reactions closing him to a cold masked figure.

What do I do? How to protect? What to protect?

What is the Danger?

Is it the Manor? That wretched Servant? Is it you?

Her mind was flooded, when Leonard who was staring at the wooden panels, raised his right foot and crossed the threshold.

"Leo."

He did not turn back.

She cocked her head to one side. Listening intently.

Oh dear, she signed.

She looked down at the creature at her mercy. He was sweating. Stinking. His eyes bulging out, heart rate dangerously leaping.

Someone was approaching; her saving grace or this man should be dead in all regards. Losing temper have led to murderous instincts.

She heard him padding softy, his breathing, cautious and a little haggard. She realized it was Leo. She was momentarily taken aback. He had never done it. Even created various blocks and reasons in his mind to restrain himself from entering.

Quite a lad. A fascinating one.

Always, the last step. Never the landing.

She had felt hurt initially, and then satisfied herself with the little meet up.

Now, he was out there. Most probably reaching here. The source of sound. She could sense Turdley urge to scream, his throat is too dry. Fear.

"It's Leonard." She said. "The Angel who saves you." She smiled, "better keep him in prayers or you are going to Hell anyway."

Leonard reached the last door. He could hear nothing now.

No, his mind screeched. It was his thought. All caution lost, he threw the door open. The room was so familiar- his breath was knocked out of him. The room was warm, bright. For a moment, he thought his Mother would come from one of the doors inside, and call him in, "why are you standing outside, Leo. Come on in." She would sit on the bed, patting the seat beside her, "sit" and then he would nestle and tell her all- all of it. He did not remember what that had felt like. It felt like forever since he had unburdened himself on anyone. Of course, she was not there, but someone was.

Rat. A big one.

Turdley.

He looked as if he was close to bursting. From what, he was unsure. His usually careful hair are disarrayed, his iron clothes rumpled, veins and eyes popping out. Quite an unearthly sight. He looked up, and when our eyes met, he yelped, covering his eyes.

"Don't look at me." He said.

"Take my word, I do not intent to. You make quite a sight though."

"Her eyes, her eyes." He said pointing an accusing finger while the other covered his own pair.

Her eyes. Mum's eyes. Emerald Willington eyes.

"You stole the painting?"

"No." he screamed, "please, believe me, I would never." He looked around frantically, "please, do not say these things, she will hear- she will send me to hell."

Leonard considered, "who is the she here?"

Turdley looked as if we would faint, only his adrenaline kept him insane. "Mistress."

Leonard should be, unnerved, instead, he felt his mind consuming that piece of information. He looked around. It was homey as ever, as if the mistress will return at any moment.

He breathed, "Mum?"

Turdley made a violent noise, nearly throwing himself on his legs, "Master, please. No, no, she will come. She will-"

Turdley went still; his eyes rolled to whites, body went slack and fell on his face. Chin hitting hard enough to break. He stayed there.

Leonard wanted to knell, check his pulse. He did not.

He was not breathing. The man, who was panting and convulsing just a moment before, was still.

Too still for living.

"Leo?"

He closed his eyes. Nothing changes here.

Nothing. He will find nothing when he turns.

"Leo?" he felt a warm hand on his shoulders.

Oh.

He did not know he was holding his breathe. He opened his eyes, turned,

"Aunt."